


She's Just Like the Weather

by queengabby



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Banter, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Long Time Coming quest, Pre-Relationship, Pre-War Memories, SO MUCH KISSING O SHIT WADDUP!!!!!!!, post Long Time Coming quest, some classic 'i knew you before the war' content lads!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-05
Updated: 2016-10-27
Packaged: 2018-08-13 07:19:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7967566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queengabby/pseuds/queengabby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Toast helps Nick find the holotapes that will lead them to Winter. Nick holds her hand and tries to shake the feeling that he's done this before.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> heya! this has been sitting in my drafts for months now......so .....please take it.......  
> i'm planning for the finished piece to be 2 or 3 chapters max, hope u enjoy!! 
> 
> also thank u to my beta, pups....i'm am love you!!

Nick Valentine: the pistol-savvy, quick-witted synth detective – currently pressed up against a wall behind the Commonwealth’s newest savior.

“What do you see?” he asks, tucked away near a toolbox she had just pilfered for a screwdriver. She shifts her feet, and perches her sniper rifle against the fallen debris behind them, giving him a good profile view of her sun-kissed cheekbone. She pulls her glasses back down to the bridge of her nose before glancing over at him and smiling.

He had worked with the ‘mystery dame’ for half a year already. She went by the name “Toast”, though with the lack of food variety in the Commonwealth, no one knew what it meant (save for those who lived before the bombs dropped). To everyone else, it was just another strange name to add to the list. Anyone within their right mind would know that it wasn’t her real name, but she kept up the act even in front of the most humorless people in the Brotherhood. Regardless, she did save Nick’s metal behind more times than he could count, whether it be cutting his vacation in Skinny Malone’s vault hideaway short, or pushing into his shoulder to shield him from an impressively aimed bullet.

“Two deathclaws.” She says, and then looks back in her scope. A familiar whirring noise gets louder as she continues to spy at the scene down below, and she knows it isn't coming from somewhere in his own synth parts. Beside her, he absentmindedly works on the loose screws on his wrist with the screwdriver she handed him moments ago.

“That noise can only mean one thing,” Nick says, flexing his fingers. She takes her eye off the scope again to look at him, as both of them speak in unison.

“Veribirds.”

Toast lets out a long sigh before speaking, “We’ll know once one of them crashes in a nearby building.” Nick puts away his screwdriver as Toast’s eyes seem to light up with sudden irritation. “Why do they always fly around in those things, anyway? None of them can aim for shit. It’s as if they all pilot with their damn feet.”

            Nick stifles the urge to quirk a smile when he replies, “They can’t help it, they’re looking for an autograph from the Commonwealth’s Synth Hugger.” He offers and she can’t help but grin.

            “I’d do things with a synth the Brotherhood would have nightmares about.” She winks, removing her sniper rifle from its position and cradling it in her arms. Nick swallows once, momentarily distracted by his own thoughts. What does she –

“C’mon, Valentine,” she sing-songs as she hops down to the second floor of the decrepit police station. “They won’t shoot at me, which means they can’t shoot at you. I haven’t pissed them off quite enough.”

They reach a terminal on the second floor and Toast pushes a skeleton aside to sit in the stool. “Which station is this again?” she asks.

“Natick, but by the looks of things, it’s been permanently amalgamated into Lake Cochituate.” He peers down at the water that had seeped into half the first floor of the building.

She snorts, and then Nick hears the familiar clicking of the terminal’s keyboard as she pulls up information. “Got it, it’s downstairs in the lockers.” She pushes herself away from the desk and adjusts the strap of her sniper rifle to rest across her metal chest piece. Dropping down to the ground floor with a muffled ‘oof!’ she hops behind the reception desk and opens up the only locker still completely intact. Nick follows her down, watching as her head and arms disappear behind the locker’s door.

“Here we are,” she holds Eddie Winter’s fourth holotape between her thumb and forefinger, her head peeking out of the locker a moment later. “Want me to put it in the pack or did you want to hold onto it?”

Nick felt the craving for nicotine, suddenly. The stress of what they were doing – the impending finality of his hunt for revenge – it was making him nervous. He takes out a cigarette from the chest pocket of his trench coat and looks at Toast from underneath the brim of his fedora. “How about you hold onto them until we have all the clues.”

“Sure,” Toast doesn't seem phased at all by his decision, putting the holotape in a smaller pocket of her pack. They almost have all of them now, but she never fails to ask if he wants to hold each one. He wonders if she does it for his sake.

Nick pats the pockets of his coat, feeling the urge to curse grow stronger every moment spent without being able to smoke. The familiar click of a lighter has him blinking up at the sudden spark near his face.

“Need a light?” Toast asks, the lighter extended in her hand, a flame waiting to burn.

Nick leans forward and lights his cigarette, his eyes meeting with hers, an unknown expression resting on her face. She doesn't look upset, but she also doesn’t look relaxed – tense perhaps? She seems to be holding a breath as he takes a drag. And then it occurred to him, that the act was incredibly intimate. Huddled together near the receptionist’s desk, her hip resting on the counter, her warmth radiating so close to him he can feel it on his synthetic skin. The act feels nostalgic somehow, but he pushes away the thought as quickly as it came. Nick sighs in contentment as he releases the smoke in his lungs, and Toast smiles, relaxing.

“Thanks, doll.” He says, sounding more reserved than she’d ever heard him before.

The moment is quiet, something Nick often finds himself missing the most from his office in Diamond City. Toast moves to check her own pockets for a smoke, and actually cusses when she finds none.

“Shit.”

“Left them at Sanctuary?” Nick asks and she nods.

“Knowing Mac and Cait, there's going to be a cloud of smoke billowing over the settlement by the time we get back.” She jokes, but he can see the pull of her brow, the way she tries not to frown.

“Here,” he says, moving to take another cigarette out of his coat.

“Nah, it's alright.” She says, and there’s a mischievous light behind her eyes when she moves, gently taking his wrist holding the cigarette, and bringing it to her own mouth.

It's...intimate. Incredibly so.

Nick has a reflexive need to breathe, watching her take a slow drag off the cigarette still balanced between his fingers. She must have noticed, because she glances up at him, her eyes hot on his skin. She leans back, closing her eyes and exhaling the smoke. It's drawn out and unnecessary and Nick wants to curse because it's the most alluring thing she could've possibly done.

But the moment dissipates thanks to his silence and she gives him a little smile before standing up, dusting off the back of her vault suit. “Let's go check in on the deathclaws.”

“Y-yeah.” Not the smoothest reply, he admits, but it has her grinning all the same.

 

They walk out of the Natick station and head over to a gated area. A member of the Brotherhood shoots at the deathclaw near the entrance of a park. When Toast and Nick approach, the soldier glances over at them momentarily.

“Need some help?” Toast asks, taking out her shotgun. Nick presumes the Brotherhood member is a Knight, since they’re wearing power armour, and based on the information Toast had managed to gather on her few visits on the Prydwen.

“We’ve got the situation under control, but you’re more than welcome to give the monster what it deserves.” Was the soldier’s reply.

How diplomatic, Nick thinks to himself.

He assumes the soldier didn’t notice Nick was a synth, or perhaps he was too pre-occupied, because he didn’t say anything. Though he doubted their silence would last, since most of the Brotherhood just _had_ to say their opinion on synths, even without being prompted or asked.

 _Especially_ without being prompted or asked.

Toast and Nick turn the corner to see one deathclaw near the center of the park next to a fountain. The other is in the back, fighting with two other Brotherhood members in power armour. Toast loads her shotgun and does quick footwork around the deathclaw by the fountain. Nick notices the beast is already significantly wounded, so he doubts it’ll last against some carefully placed shells. He assumes the Brotherhood members left it incapacitated so it would suffer before it died. Or maybe he was assuming too much. But when he looks up at Toast, he notices her expression and wonders if she came to the same conclusion. He readies his assault rifle anyway, just in case something manages to go wrong.

The fight only lasts a moment longer before Toast is reloading her shotgun to help the other Brotherhood members. As they approach the second deathclaw, it picks up one of the men and proceeds to crush him within his own armour. Nick manages not to stare at the smashed up body, even as the deathclaw steps on it to reach the other Brotherhood member. Toast is quick, however, and shoots the deathclaw twice, distracting it from its newest target. The shotgun shells hit a meaty part of the beast’s neck, and makes a divot in its temple as it faces her.

“Stimpaks!” Nick shouts over the deathclaw’s roar, as Toast backtracks towards the center of the park again.

“Got it, got it,” she replies, her voice faster and a little higher pitched, but she’s calm as the deathclaw swipes for her. She hits the beast’s arm with the stock of her shotgun as it tries to grab her, but the other hand manages to get a grip on her torso. Nick grinds his teeth, shooting at the deathclaw’s stomach as it holds Toast in the air.

Before he has a chance to yell, throw something, or distract it – anything to stop it from splitting her in half – time feels as if it slows. Toast is aiming her shotgun even as the deathclaw swings her around like Jangles the Moon Monkey. And then a deafening shot rings out in the park, and the deathclaw’s head blows up into pieces.

Nick feels as if he’s underwater, watching the muscles in the deathclaw’s headless body spasm once, before crumpling to the ground. Toast manages to catch herself as she falls, extending her bodyweight and rolling until she’s lying on her side. Her shotgun had been thrown out of her hands as a result.

Nick can hear her breathing hard, and he sees her root around in her pack for a stimpak, the syringe aimed at her ribcage for only a moment before she depresses the lever.

“As much as I like this fountain in particular, I think I prefer Shakespeare in the park.” Toast says, and lets out a short laugh even as Nick approaches her and offers a hand. She grips his forearm and lets herself be pulled back to her feet.

“Thanks, Valentine.” She says, a smear of dirt extending past her jawline and down her neck. Nick brushes her hair from her sweating forehead, allowing himself only a mere second as he curls a finger around her ear. He wouldn't dare linger, and by the time she's registered his touch, he's already pulling back.

The Brotherhood soldier is looking over the body of his companion, and so Toast tears her gaze from Nick. He lowers his hand and tugs the brim of his hat further down his brow as she walks over to the knight to offer her condolences.

“No need for sympathy, sister. You helped us today.” The soldier says before she can speak, surprisingly amicable for someone who may or may not have just seen her getting friendly with a beat up synth.

She picks up the dead soldier’s holotags and gives them to the knight, who thanks her, and stands up, heading back towards the third member who waits at the gate.

“And sister,” the soldier turns to glance back at Toast, who had rejoined Nick near the body of the deathclaw. Here it comes, Nick thinks.

“Watch that synth, they can turn hostile at any moment.” He warns. Nick wonders why he never suggested they keep a tally of how many people comment on her choice of companions. He also tries not to smile.

“Oh no need to worry, I’ll keep him _real_ close.” Toast says automatically, one hand on her shotgun, and the other waving the soldiers off as they head for a nearby veribird.

Nick swallows, and can’t help when the comment bubbles up, his voice low and quiet. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“You should.” She replies, without turning around. Her voice just as low as his own. She turns toward him and grins, the tension diffused as she kneels by one of the fallen deathclaws. “Now, you need to time me. I bet you a hundred caps I can cut out some deathclaw steaks from these meatheads before the veribird crashes.”

“It’s a done deal, sweetheart.”

          

* * *

         

            They spend that night in the building next to the park. Toast rummages through drawers in the second floor to find old sheets and clothing. Nick surmises that the building was an abandoned raider camp, barely established before leaving because of the deathclaw risk. Toast tries to cover some of the broken springs in a mattress on the lower level with leftover cloth. Nick drags an old barrel over and they both scrounge for matches to light it – the tinder within the barrel still relatively untouched.

            “Wake me up if another deathclaw shows up.” She says to Nick as she crawls onto the mattress. He can tell she isn’t tired. She rarely is. But it’s well past midnight and they have two more holotapes to gather. Nick grunts as he sits down to rest his back against a cabinet parallel to where she sleeps. He sighs, and then she sighs a moment later. When he glances over at Toast, she’s facing him, and she’s smiling.

            “You should get some sleep, doll.” He says, but he knows from months of experience that it really doesn’t matter what he says. She’s close enough that he can effortlessly reach out and touch her arm, maybe hold her hand – but he doesn’t. He doesn’t have to wait long before he hears her groan, shifting so that she lies on her back.

            “C’mon Nick, you know me. Read me – wait – _tell_ me a bedtime story.” She offers, and tilts her head to watch his eyes shift their focus in the dark.

            He’s quiet for a moment, contemplative, as he reaches into his breast pocket for a smoke.

            “Nick—” she starts but he lets out a breathless laugh that interrupts her.

            “Can’t a man get a smoke before he tells a tale?” he asks, watching as she bites her lip, and he can see the sparkle in her eye from the nearby fire. He feels young in these moments, with her. She can’t be less than in her mid twenties but she’s got this youthful spirit that he can’t get enough of. Sometimes he forgets both of them are over 200 years old. But the stories that they share with one another reminds him that they’ve got a lot of life experience.

            “Tell me about that, then,” she points to the cigarette currently balanced on his lower lip.

            “Whaddya mean?”

            “I _mean_ everyone knows synths don’t need oxygen. They don’t get addicted to anything either, let alone, to something as common as nicotine. Why do you smoke?”

            “Well, the real – er,” he stops himself before he finishes the sentence, because he can already see her raising a brow in challenge. She hated that term – _real_ – as if the Nick Valentine she knew was some figment of her imagination. “The _human_ Nick Valentine used to smoke all the time.” He corrects himself as he lights his cigarette.

            “It can’t be that simple,” she quirks a smile even when he scoffs and feigns annoyance, taking a drag.

            “Why not?” He blows out the smoke as he speaks.

            “Because human Nick could’ve given you the suggestion but it’s up to you to make the choice.” Toast says, and he catches the way she inhales a little deeper through her noise, trying to catch the scent in the air. He should offer her a cigarette, but he _really_ should be helping her sleep.

“It’s up to you to decide if you really want to commit to making it a habit.” She explains, her hands in the air. “Without the actual craving of nicotine to remind you, it couldn’t have been anything else but a choice. So why do you smoke?”

            He doesn’t know if he should tell her this. Mostly because it’s, well,

            “It’s a little embarrassing.” He says to her, and she looks at him from where she lays on the mattress, all genuine curiosity and confusion. She was rarely disingenuous, least of all to him.

            “When I woke up in that dumpster, it wasn’t empty.” He taps the ash off the end of his cigarette, looking thoughtful. “Well, the chances of it being empty were pretty slim, I guess. Considering all the crap and dirt collected after the bombs fell. Regardless, a few bags broke my fall. If not, I doubt this handsome mug would’ve survived even this much.” He points to the cracks by his jaw and his neck. She juts out her bottom lip, looking a little frustrated by his self-deprecation, but he continues before she can voice it.

            “I crawled out, very stiff and very,” he contemplates the words. “lost.” He takes another drag, as Toast shifts to lean on her side. The fire from the barrel reflects off her eyeglasses as she studies him.

            “I had a head full of memories that weren’t mine. I’ve told you that before – the human Nick Valentine, Jenny, Winter, all of it. It took a little while for the bits and pieces to get back together so I was still muddled when I looked back at the garbage bin. The place that had been my home for however long I was powered down.”

            He sees Toast move her arm to reach for him, her fingers scraping dirt as she moves her palm across the floor. He takes her hand in his metal one, and her thumb holds onto where his softer knuckles should be.

            “I had the idea that I should be wearing clothes, and so I started rummaging. Found a coat – not the prize you see here –” he pats his breast pocket, “just some shitty duster that would last me until the town over, but then I came across a book.” He takes a drag, enjoys the way she leans just a bit forward to catch it again. He discreetly blows the smoke her way.

            “With a cover and everything?” she asks, and her voice would’ve been cutting in the silence if she had not murmured the words.

            “Yeah, beat up around the corners. Pages had been bent over as bookmarks, some edges were torn inside but it was pretty well intact.” He snorts, “Not surprising it hadn’t been stolen, it was pretty shitty.” He takes a last drag and then smothers the remainder of his cigarette. “A trashy pulp comic book.”

            She bites her lip to hold back a smile, and he _knows_ she can guess where he’s going with the story but she doesn’t interrupt.

            “I don’t remember the exact name of the comic book, and _no_ I know that look, if it was truly the Silver Shroud I wouldn’t lie to you.” She laughs as he continues, not removing her hand from his. “Maybe it was, maybe it wasn’t.” he teases, “All I saw was the outfit, the gun, and the cigarette. The trenchcoat was faded and dirty, but it was there.” He gestures with his good hand to look at his current attire. “And now it’s here.”

            “Nick Valentine,” she sounds scandalized. “Did you custom make your trench coat off a pulp fiction comic?” she grins and he shrugs, smiling back.

            “Like I said, embarrassing.”

            “I think it’s adorable.”

            “Great.” He says, and it sounds more derisive than he means to be. Toast takes it in stride.

            “No,” she laughs, scooting closer, tugging his hand so he looks at her. “I mean it as in, it’s charming!”

            “Uh huh.” He says and she laughs harder because she can see the hint of a smile tugging at his mouth.

            “Come here, slick Nick,” she pulls him over and he relents. She scoots over to give him room on the mattress as he shuffles to lie next to her. In the back of his mind, Nick is aware that he should’ve put up more of a fight, but when she moves her hand to play with his tie, he knows he couldn’t have resisted for much longer.

            She’s not saying anything, and the moment is tense, because _she_ pulled him, well, into her bed, essentially. He waits, his eyes trained on her downcast eyelashes as she studies the threading of his tie a bit too carefully.

            Toast’s gaze flickers up to his eyes for only a moment and then she sighs, tilting her head to look at him. Her expression is sort of funny, because she looks rather flushed, but she isn’t timid whatsoever when she speaks. “I think you’re handsome.” And if she hadn’t said it so matter-of-factly, Nick would’ve immediately known that the red in her cheeks was from embarrassment. But she was always so certain, so sure in herself and her convictions – he couldn’t help but believe her.

           


	2. Chapter 2

Toast leads the hike to the next holotape location soon after telling Nick that no, she is not repulsed by his synth mug and in actuality; she’s kinda into that.

            He doesn't know how to take some of the things she says. Toast was always a sweet talker. She knew how to get what she wanted, whether it be twirling her fingers through her hair and tilting her head a certain way, or winking and offering a coy smile. When she had brought both himself and Deacon along, the Railroad agent thought the entire charade was hilarious. Toast gathered information like it had always been free, and Deacon played along with his easy lies. Toast had confessed to Nick that Deacon reminded her of her brother, who had been deployed the same time as her husband. The two soldiers would write to her as often as they could, but eventually, the letter from her brother stopped coming. Toast told Nick about the night she found out her brother had been killed, and how (for the very first time) she prayed at her bedside for Nate not to come back in a coffin too.

            “Hey Valentine,” Toast called to Nick, effectively pulling him out of his own thoughts.

            “Go on,” he replies, checking the ammo in his gun before following her lead as she crouches.

            “Raiders are here,” she says, parking herself behind a boulder and taking a quick glance at the entrance of the next police station. An office, actually. BADTFL Regional. Nick remembers cleaning out raiders from the entrance of this building once or twice before. Only a moment passes once she has her sniper positioned, and the two raiders standing watch are both dead.

            She doesn’t bother crouching, and jogs across the road to loot their bodies. “Catch,” she says, and Nick turns his attention to the box of ammo being tossed in his direction. He stuffs it in his pocket as she picks up one of the raider’s dropped rifles and checks the mods.

            “Anything good?” he asks, but she chucks the gun aside and sighs.

            “Nah just a bunch of junk,” she hoists up her sniper rifle and slings it onto her back again. Taking out the Deliverer pistol, she snaps the loaded ammo into place and puts a hand on her hip. “Let’s head inside.”

            “Right behind you.” He says as she gets back into a crouching position and jiggles the doorknob on the station’s main entrance. He follows her inside, and closes the door with a soft click.

 

* * *

 

 

            Nick is surprised that the station isn't empty. He presumes the raiders are using it as a temporary hideout, since it seems better protected from the outside than Natick station had been. Or maybe none of the raiders were interconnected and he and Toast just happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time.

            Deacon could usually tell if a building had occupants even before entering. When the trio had gotten caught in a fight with Supermutants, Deacon was the one to verify which nearby building was abandoned so they could take shelter and patch themselves up. Nick wondered how much of that was because of his connections with the railway, and how much of it was purely because he was, well, Deacon.

He was a good man. Nick could tell that Deacon and Toast felt equally tied to one another. And for some reason, upon reflection, Nick feels as if Toast’s comparison between her brother and the agent somehow familiar –

            “Shit,” she huffs out, quickly grabbing Nick at the elbow before he can move forward. He’s about to ask what the fuss is about, but then he catches the voices of two raiders as they make their way through a hall and into the room he and Toast were about to enter. He can hear the sound of bags and gear being dropped, and then –

Oddly enough, he can hear the raiders, well, _kissing._

            Toast looks as if she's fit to burst – laughing or screaming, Nick is unsure. Though it takes a moment, they inch away from the door and down the hall to a room they had already cleared. He stands up when they're far enough away from the two raiders, and Toast gestures to a beat up old couch.

“Take a seat Nick.”

He swallows, and feels like he needs some clarification. “Care to explain?” He asks, lighting a cigarette and taking a seat on the couch, despite his initial resistance.

“Raiders are already angry as it is, what with all the psycho in their systems. I’d rather not interrupt their moment and see some true wrath.” Her voice is softer than before, though she still sounds convinced of her choice. “We may as well wait it out, we need that holotape and I'm not leaving this – station, office, whatever -- without it.”

“We could come back later,” he reasons and she scoffs.

“And wait until they find those bodies outside? Until they know someone is trying to get in here for something valuable? They'll be twice as equipped and twice as _annoying_ if we give them that chance.” She has a point.

They hear a loud moan from the other room, and Nick takes the longest drag of his life. He feels as if his system might bust. Toast doesn't seem particularly phased, though in the low light of the lantern, her cheeks look a bit coloured. She stands in the middle of the room, her fingers tapping her thigh impatiently before she rummages around in the cupboards.

“Didn't we already look through here?” He asks, his arm resting on the back of the sofa. He's trying his damned best to look relaxed, though it's the furthest from the truth. Toast leaves his peripheral vision as she searches a cabinet on the wall.

“I know but I saw something…ah-hah!” She returns, stepping near a coffee table in the middle of the room, and holds a checkerboard in her hand.

“Wow, you're serious.” He tries not to let his voice sound tight. Everything about this would make the human Nick incredibly uncomfortable. And a barrage of other emotions he knew he wasn't exactly ready to face in Toast’s presence. Human Nick grew up in an age where this sort of thing was frowned upon in polite company, and completely unheard of everywhere else. Not “sex at work” per-se, but voyeurism. And it’s voyeurism against an enemy, no less. He feels like he’s living some kinky gang member’s fantasy. Actually, this is very close to what Hancock described when he was completely sloshed that one time –

“You don't think you can win against me, Valentine?” She asks, and he can hear a table creaking in another room, followed by another moan. He wonders idly if this is why she and Deacon, or hell, even Hancock get along so well. If it's her ability to laugh it off. Nick wonders if he can manage the same.

“Come on, then.” He says, his cigarette loose in his mouth as he gives her a smile. She laughs, a little high off the situation, a little giddier than usual, and he thinks he likes it.

Toast pulls up a chair across from Nick at the coffee table, and they use two types of ammo as the checker pieces. Nick knows she can hear the raiders in the other room, but she sets up the ammo with little ceremony and then gestures for him to go first. There were a few checker boards back at Sanctuary, but not many people know how to play – what with all the pieces missing. She, Nick, and Hancock were amongst the few that had known how to play when Sanctuary was first built. They had a few game nights around the campfire, teaching settlers how to play. In her spare time, Toast found sticks and small pieces of wood to carve into checkers. One night, he even found her holding a chess piece.

“My brother used to tell me the bishop was a messenger.” She had told him, tossing the half-carved object to him. He held it in the dim lighting of her old bedroom, between his index finger and thumb.

“Was your brother religious?” He asked, handing the piece back to her. For some reason, he already knew the answer as she turned it in her fingers.

Nick finds himself murmuring her reply as he moves a bullet across the checker board,

“He always wanted to believe in something.”

“What's that, Nick?” she asks, and looks up. He feels a bit stunned, blinking back the memory.

“Oh I was just remembering a conversation we had a few weeks ago, when I found you carving that bishop piece for the chess set.”

An odd look passes over Toast’s face and then she’s moving to sit next to him on the sofa. He’s about to ask what's the matter but she takes his robotic hand resting on his knee and holds it.

“Nick, I didn’t carve any chess pieces. Only checkers,” she looks a little concerned, and tries to play it off with a joke. “Do you really think I’m skilled enough to whittle a bishop out of a stick?”

“Then why—” Nick frowns, looking at their intertwined fingers. He tries to comb back through the memory, when it occurs to him. They hadn't been in her old bedroom, they were in human Nick’s detective office. He remembers the stained glass lamp on his desk. He remembers his legs crossed, and how he leaned back on the mahogany table as he looked at her. She had been sitting in one of his red client chairs, and she was wearing a dark blue dress. “I knew you pre-war.” He says, his eyes a bit wide.

She doesn't seem too surprised at his revelation. “You knew.” He doesn't ask, but then his chest feels hot with sudden emotion. “Why didn't you tell me?” She takes her hands away from his and retreats back to her own chair.

“I only figured it out a few weeks ago,” she admits. “I don't remember a lot of what happened back then, especially around that time.”

“Because of your brother.” He replies and she slowly nods. Nick feels the frustration subside, and then he feels his heart tug as he remembers more. “He was conscripted. He worked in my department, I remember.”

She gives him a sad smile. “A few weeks ago, you told me that you used to work in Chicago.” She puts a hand on her chest. “My brother and I lived in Chicago together before the war, but then he was enlisted and I continued with law school.” Nick clasps his hands together and watches her.

“You had flat feet.” She says, and then lets out a little laugh. “Didn't fit in the boots. That's why you weren't conscripted too. Plus you were really good at your job, or so my brother told me.”

“You came to the office to tell me—”

“That my brother was killed in action.” She nods. “I moved back to Boston to be closer to my parents, and then I met Nate.”

“How could I let something like that slip my mind?” He asks her and she shrugs.

“Same reason I did, maybe. You wanted to forget.” Toast looks down at the board and moves a bullet.

He knows she doesn't mean to end the conversation, she just wants to ease some of the tension building between them. Maybe even to give Nick some space to breathe.

“Your brother’s name was Darcy.”

She blinks up at him and then a gentle smirk plays on her lips before she smiles in earnest. Toast seems genuinely pleased that he remembers, and he's suddenly very proud of himself for doing so. “It was.”

“He was a bit taller than me and he was always a little scruffy looking. He used to come in and tell us how his sister gave him an earful for going to work looking unkempt.”

She throws her head back and laughs, pulling one of her knees up to her chest and resting her chin. “That's right, he was so bad at remembering to shave his face in the morning.”

Nick can hear furniture squeaking down the hallway, and he hardly pays any mind as he keeps recalling pre-war Chicago. “Darcy and I were working late on a case, and you came by to bring us dinner. It was raining and the front door was locked.”

“You unlocked the door for me because he was too lazy to let his sister into the station.” She shook her head, and chuckles. Nick remembers her eyes.

“You had a red trench coat.” He says and Toast looks genuinely surprised.

“I wonder where it is now…that was a good coat.” She smiles idly, looking relaxed.

“It was gorgeous on you.” Nick says before he can catch himself, and the pause between them is palpable. Toast looks as if she might say something but then changes her mind.

“Your move,” she comments and he stumbles in his own movements as he looks down at the board.

Nick is staring down at the checker board, overcome by embarrassment.

“Darcy was the one who used to whittle.” She says suddenly, and Nick glances up at her. She look wistful for a moment, and Nick wonders if it upsets her to remember. “Before he left, he gave me that bishop. When I was leaving for Boston, I stopped by the station to tell you that he had died. I brought the bishop with me.”

He moves a checker, even though it feels redundant at this point.

“And you asked me if he was religious.”

Nick remembers – watching the scene play in his mind as if it happened moments ago. She had looked so tired, so small, sitting in that old client chair. The bishop was folded between her hands, knuckles white as she gripped it – and gripped her composure from deep within herself –

“Right there! R-right – yes!!” They hear gasps from the other room, the pace rougher and louder than before.

“Well I believe our friends are about done in there.” Toast says, the moment broken. She gets up and packs away the ammo they had taken out for the game.

“You're just making excuses because I was winning.” Nick teases and she scoffs amiably. Neither of them paid much attention to the game by the end of it.

“We have to bring this with us, just to remember.” She gestures to the checkerboard. Nick lets out a displeased noise.

“I don't think I'd keep this moment in a scrapbook, might be a little inappropriate.” He says, nodding his head toward the raiders in the other room.

“Let's call it the sex-er board.”

He groans and she laughs. Nick figures by the lack of noise coming from the raiders that they're essentially ‘done’, and so he trails Toast as she walks over to them.

“Hey there,” Toast offers a bit softer than usual. When the raiders gasp in unison, Toast puts her hands up.

“Wait wait wait, a second! Okay,” she gestures to one of the raiders about to get up and retrieve their gun. “Look, I don’t wanna ruin the moment, I'm here to pick up a holotape. That's it, promise.”

The raider who had been lying down decides to sit up, putting on a shirt. “What's on the holotape?” they ask.

“Information on a guy named Eddie Winter.” She says, and Nick is pleasantly surprised by her honesty, albeit a bit risky.

“Never heard of ‘em.” Says the one standing up. They’re covering themselves with a beer bottle. Toast shrugs.

“Kind of proves how I need the holotape and how you definitely don't need it, right?” She says, and the raiders look at one another.

The one standing up speaks first. “Guess so. We only got here a bit ago. The old police chief’s desk is in the back but the door to it is locked tight.”

“Shouldn’t be a problem,” she says and disappears into the next room. Nick stands in the doorway, still keeping an eye on the two raiders.

“We’re not on psycho.” The raider sitting down says.

“Huh?” Nick looks at them, confused. The one standing up has pants on now.

“I'm not gonna attack you, so you can relax. Just had like, three orgasms so I'm tired.”

The other raider snickered in reply, but Nick simply sighed.

“I was under the impression that all raiders had the philosophy of kill or be killed.” He says and one of the raiders shrugs.

“We don’t really qualify as raiders. The group we were with was pretty lousy anyway.”

Toast comes back into the room. “Got it,” she grins at Nick, holding the holotape between her fingers before stuffing it in her bag. She turns to the raiders and hands them ammo and some food.

“There's a share, since you didn't shoot us on sight.” Toast smiles and then hands them each a Nuka Cola. “Worked up an appetite I bet.”

The ex-raider sitting down laughs, thanks her, and takes a drink.

“We should get going.” Toast says, and gives the raiders a little curtsy. It looks misplaced in a decked out vault suit, and Nick bites back a smile.

He does wonder, somewhere in the back of his mind, if the raiders would come after them down the line. But after he follows Toast out of the station, she turns to him and holds up the holotape in front of her face. It has the number 0 scrawled messily along the edge.

“One more left, Detective.” She says while grinning, and then tucks the orange disk into her pack. Nick doesn't realize he's digging in his coat for a cigarette until she's pulling out her own lighter from her pack. He feels mild panic when he catches a glance at her expression to find her face etched with genuine worry.

She steps closer, holding her hand up to protect the flame as she lights his cigarette for him.

“You sure you're okay? You’re shaking pretty bad, Nick.”

“Yeah, I’m good.” He replies, automatically. Toast seems to notice, and her mouth turns down in disapproval, but she doesn’t pry.

He watches as she brings up her Pip-Boy, taking a look at the map. “Well, we’re a bit north of Goodneighbor. We could stop there for the evening and then head up to Sanctuary? It’ll be a bit of a walk, though…”

Nick takes a long drag before speaking. “It sounds good, I’m fine to keep going.”

“Alright,” she says, and takes out her Deliverer pistol. Nick watches her load the ammo without looking as she, instead, takes her time to scan the area. “We shuldn’t have too much trouble this afternoon. I think the two inside split up from their raider gang a while ago, and they don’t seem eager to go back.”

“I think so, too.” He agrees.

“Eager for,” she pauses,

“Yeah, I get it.” He replies, but he waits for her to continue regardless. Because he knows she will. Because he knows her like the back of his mechanical hand.

“Other things—”

“O _kay,_ ” he says, sounding exasperated. Though admittedly, he struggles in holding back a smile.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm am gay? enjoy!

They make it to Goodneighbor by nightfall. Toast is light on her feet, and they come against little resistance. She sneaks behind broken cars and cracked cement blockades. Once they reach the halfway mark, she’s talking to him without reservation. Although Nick is still on edge for raiders, he ends up not needing to worry at all. They've walked this path a thousand times, but the Commonwealth had proven many times to be both unchanging and unforgiving.

“Well look who the Commonwealth coughed up,” Daisy says as Toast walked into her store. Toast gave the ghoul a quick smile.

“Heya Daisy, how’ve you been?” She greets.

“Oh, the usual. John got back in town a few days ago, up to all sorts of trouble I'm sure..” Daisy leans on the counter. “You need to buy any supplies?”

Nick takes out a few weapons that Toast had given him during their loots. Typical raider gear and some basic pistols. “Actually, I'll take some cigarettes if you have any.” She shoots Nick a wink as he lays the weapons on the counter.

“Got lots. How many packs do you need?”

“I've run out of my emergency stash, take that as an estimate.” Toast grins, and then laughs as she watches Daisy pile several cartons of cigarettes onto the counter.

After paying out the necessary caps and handing half the goods to Nick, Toast packs up the cigarettes and takes out two. “Should be good for a while, thanks Daisy.” Toast turns to leave the store, and when she and Nick step under a street light, she hands him a cigarette.

“I'm surprised John is back in town. When'd that happen?” He asks her as she lights their cigarettes.

“He told me he wanted to check up on things a little while ago, I told him to go ahead.” Toast takes a drag. “Sanctuary has been holding its own for a while, now. I don't need him tending to the crops… and I don't have a set plan to travel with him since I'm helping you right now, so.”

Nick feels mildly guilty over taking up so much of her time. Toast was a busy woman, and a lot of people in the Commonwealth needed her time. But, he supposes with the amount of lecturing he gets from Ellie, the same could be said for himself. “Think he’ll want a visit?” Nick asks, and he has the pleasure of watching a wicked grin spreads on Toast’s face.

“I'm thinking he already knows we’re here.”

In truth, Nick knows that Hancock wouldn't let them leave without paying him a visit. But every time Nick talked to him when Toast was around, the ghoul would make a point of embarrassing the detective by urging the two of them to relax and spend some time together. And then he would conveniently leave.

It wasn’t that Nick didn’t enjoy spending time with Toast (quite the opposite, in fact) it was that Hancock was trying to skirt along the edge of a very complicated and important friendship. Nick cared about Toast immensely, and although she took Hancock’s set ups in stride, he didn’t want to jeopardize what he had with her. He didn’t want to put her in an awkward position. He didn’t want to know how she really felt about what was happening between them, because maybe it was temporary.

Truth is, he didn’t want to be disappointed by the inevitable truth.

“Well, look who it is. My two favorite detectives.” Hancock interrupts Nick’s thoughts. Toast had lead the way to the Mayor’s office, while Nick trailed her, engrossed in his own self-deprecation.

“John!” Toast replies, not hesitating to run into the mayor’s arms for a tight hug.

“Whoa, if I knew you'd react like this, I’d come home more often.” He jokes, growling like a yao guai when he gives her a tight squeeze in return. He only takes a step back to look at her. For a moment, it reminds Toast of a doctor.

“You look tired.” He notes, and Toast shrugs. Hancock was always good to Toast – he knew her well – as if any small change was drastic enough to realize upon first glance.

“Been out for a bit too long, maybe?” He guesses, and she scoffs, taking another step back.

“Now that's just ridiculous. I've got things to do, people to see.” Toast taps at her Pip-Boy. “On a schedule, ya see.”

“Of course,” Hancock gives a lazy bow. “You're just in time for our meeting, madam.” He gives her a lopsided grin when she lets out a short laugh, but then the ghoul’s attention turns to Nick.

“Well well, if it isn't the man himself. Guess I shouldn't be surprised,” he glances back at Toast and gives her a wink. “You two are practically attached at the hip.”

“Good to see you, John.” Nick says, “Keeping Goodneighbor hospitable as usual.”

“Of course Nicky, of course.” The mayor waves his hands. “Speaking of, since you two are in town, why don't I extend that hospitality?”

Toast and Nick exchange glances, the vaultie speaking first. “Well we were just hoping to get supplies, and maybe bunk with you tonight, we don't need anything special.”

“Nonsense, there’s gonna be a great time at the Third Rail tonight. Dancing, dressin’ up, drinking, Magnolia is playing...” Hancock says, his voice sugar sweet.

“Oh, I don't know, John…” Toast hesitates, looking to Nick. The detective tries to look unperturbed, giving her a little smile. For once, she’s unreadable.

“It’s up to you, doll.” He says, deciding it to be the safest route. She looks as if she’s about to say something.

“I might add,” Hancock interrupts, “tonight’s goin’ to be extra special because the mayor is back and food n’ drink will be on the house.”

Toast rolls her eyes instead.

“That includes wine.” He hints, and that seems to pique Toast’s interest. She wasn’t an avid drinker, but Nick found out shortly after meeting her that she took pleasure in sitting down with a glass of wine. Or, well, a bottle. Wine glasses were hard to come by these days.

“Well, I'm okay with that.” Toast feigns disinterest at the offer, looking to Nick, who gives her a smile.

“It's a bit fancier than your usual evening…” Hancock trails off.

“If you want me to get dolled up John, all you have to do is ask.” She puts a hand on her hip. Nick’s eyes flit momentarily to her waist, and then back up. Hancock doesn’t miss it, and Nick supposes he isn’t surprised. But the ghoul doesn’t say anything, just smiles away instead.

“You always look great, I'm just sayin’ you might feel underdressed.”

“Okay, okay, I get it,” she sighs, but her expression is relaxed. “I'll go change in your office. You still have that chest for my gear?”

“Fahrenheit will look after it. Nicky and I will meet you outside.” Hancock smiles back, his hands clasped as he watches Toast leave to get changed. Toast gives Nick a fleeting glance, her gaze shy, and…nervous?

Nick is momentarily distracted by the thought, until Hancock puts a hand on the synth’s shoulder. “Are you doing alright Nicky? You look a little paler than usual.”

“I'm alright, thanks John.” Nick says, and Hancock gestures for him to follow.

“Let’s talk outside,” Hancock says and Nick squints, the reflection of his yellow eyes glinting off his cheeks.

“Just what are you planning?” He asks the mayor, who offers Nick a cigarette once they’re standing outside.

“Nothing, nothing, I'm just wondering what the holdup is.” Hancock says, his voice pleasant and relaxed.

“I don't know what you mean,” Nick tries for firmness but it's a bit lost when he's accepting Hancock’s offer for a smoke. Hancock’s reflexes are quick, taking out a gold-plated lighter and offering it to him. Once the embers start to burn, Nick takes a drag.

“Oh come on Nicky don't give me that. We've talked about this.” Hancock sounds weary, and Nick has to think back to which conversation the mayor is referring to.

Though he has a pretty good guess.

He lies. “Are you talking about that warehouse work you got that bartender to ask—?” Nick begins, and Hancock is already shaking his head. By the look that the mayor gives the detective, Hancock knows Nick is just being difficult.

“You n’ Toast.” Hancock gestures wildly with his hands, maybe some kind of euphemism for sex but Nick isn't quite sure.

“That's…” Nick trails off, “incorrect.” He settles with that, taking another drag.

“For a detective you’re not very perceptive.” He sees a smirk pass over the synth’s face. Hard to miss. “Or maybe you're just definitely pulling my leg.”

“I know exactly what you're trying to say, John. It's just complicated.” Nick says, and blows out a cloud of smoke to his right.

“What part is complicated? The ‘I'm attracted to you’ part or the ‘I want to smash nuts and bolts with you’?”

Nick rolls his eyes, the movement exacerbated by the dim lighting outside. He feels coolant rush louder in his ears, trying to relax his burning cheeks. He didn't think Hancock would put it quite that way.

There was no way Hancock hadn't been with Toast at least once while she took out institute synths – no way he hadn't seen a synth, the same model as Nick, splayed out on the ground, no clothing – no way he hadn't noticed the lack of _accessory._

Nick may not know exactly what he is, but he knows what he isn't.

He and Toast weren't even the same on the simplest level. Maybe it didn't bother him all the time, but when he even considered the idea of taking her hand or pulling her closer,

All he had to do was look down at his exposed metal hand,

And remember the most obvious clue in the Commonwealth.

“It’s not that easy,” Nick confesses, and before Hancock can open his mouth, Nick holds up a finger. “It’s _not._ ”

The ghoul sighs, scratching the back of his head while Nick finishes the cigarette. He watches Hancock pace back and forth in front of the door.

Nick can’t stand to see Hancock try so hard for him. He hates how futile the whole exercise feels. Toast messes with everyone, she’s bound to be messing with him. But she’s put herself in the way of a bullet aimed for him, held his hand, tugged him into a hug after a long campaign, helped him remember who the old Nick used to be. Hell, she’s been walking across the entire Commonwealth for a few lousy holotapes. For _him._

He wanted to think after all this time of working together, fighting together, and joking together, that maybe –

            “I don’t want to mess up what we have.” Nick says, and his voice comes out so heartbreakingly honest that it catches Hancock off guard. They stand in silence.

            “I’ve got a deal for you.” The ghoul says, turning to look at Nick after what seems like an eternity.

            Nick bites. “Go on.”

            “I want you to forget circumstance. I want you to forget the fact that the Commonwealth is fucked up, and we’re all constantly waiting to be ambushed, and I want you to forget that you feel inadequate or, blah blah blah. Because tonight is gonna be special, alright?”

            Nick sighs.

            “Toast isn’t heartless, Nicky. Sure she’s been frozen for two centuries, wields an overpowered shotgun, and it seems like she’s always solving everyone else’s fuckin’ problems, but at the end of the day she misses the same things you do. You guys have a lot in common, and I _know_ she likes you. Let it play out.”

            “Only if you stop lecturing me so much, you make me feel like a bumbling teenager.” Nick grumbles, but Hancock spies a smile on the synth’s face, and he throws his arm around the detective.

            “There ya go Nicky, cheer up!”

            “What, Nick’s not looking forward to tonight?” Toast says from the door. Nick and Hancock have to turn around to see her exit the Old State House.

            She’s wearing a dark green dress he doesn’t recall ever seeing before. It’s similar in fabric to the red sequin dress he’s seen her sell multiple times, but it has a higher collar, a hem below her knees, and a thin belt at the waist. She fixed her hair so it was out of her eyes as well, but it was still in a bun, and she still wore her glasses.

            Toast smiles, almost timidly. “Thought I’d have a dance partner.” She hasn’t moved from the top step, and Nick feels like he should be praying to whatever god allowed him to take in such a beautiful sight.

            “Hey Nicky you gonna wipe the floor with your jaw or somethin’?” Hancock teases, and Nick shakes out of Hancock’s grip, adjusting his hat and clearing his throat.

            Nick loses track of time, staring at her like this. She stares right back; a bit more playful the longer they share this quiet moment.

            “Alright we better be on our way then, if we’re all set.” Hancock interrupts, and begins walking to the Third Rail “Daisy should be there too, or so she promised me…” he trails off.

            Nick tentatively holds out his good hand for her to take. “Doll, you’re somethin’ else.” He says, and he thought it impossible for her to smile any brighter, but she manages. He has a hard time swallowing, hoping his grip doesn’t shake when he guides her hand to the crook of his arm.

            They follow Hancock to the Third Rail, where the mayor graciously holds the door open for the two of them. Hancock winks at Nick, who responds by bumping the ghoul’s tricorn hat forward and into his line of vision.

Ham greets them as they walk down the stairs, and Nick is pleasantly surprised to see the turnout at the Third Rail. It isn’t nearly as stuffy as he was expecting, with the majority of the crowd dancing in front of the tables near Magnolia’s stage. Whitechapel Charlie was making drinks for servers to take to different tables. It was louder than he was expecting however, with most guests talking amongst themselves in loungers and sofas. Hancock escorts them over to a table where Daisy is sitting. Nick is a bit surprised to see her in her regular work uniform, but she stands up and greets the three of them with all the confidence he has come to expect from her.

“How nice for my date to finally show up,” she teases Hancock, having to speak a bit louder because of the crowd. Daisy fits her forearm in Hancock’s grip to steady herself as he leans over to politely kisses her on the cheek.

“Sorry Daisy, Toast was getting cleaned up and took a bit longer than anticipated.” Hancock says.

“Well it looks like it paid off, you look gorgeous sweetheart,” Daisy replies and Toast visibly blushes. Nick bites back a smile.

“You always look kickass, Daisy.” Toast replies and Daisy nods in affirmation as she sits back down.

“Thank you, that’s what I’m going for tonight. Hancock didn’t want to be left out of the dancing, so of course I wanted to help him out.”

“Of course,” Toast grins, and Nick brushes his hand on her arm after he pulls out a chair for her. She thanks him, and takes his good hand as he angles his chair towards her and sits.

She must be nervous, Nick thinks, as she squeezes his hand in her own. She had admitted before that, sometimes, even Sanctuary felt suffocating. He tries to catch her gaze, and she smiles at him when he does.

He leans forward to speak closer to her ear. “You alright, doll?” he asks, and she nods quickly.

“Excuse me a minute,” Hancock says, standing up again and walking over to Charlie behind the bar.

“So I guess you must’ve closed up early today, then, Daisy,” Toast makes idle conversation. “Did KL-E-0 take over for you tonight?”

Daisy nods. “Yeah, she said she’d make an exception because Magnolia was singing tonight. I guess she’s a fan.”

“Oh, yeah!” Toast exclaims, pointing to Daisy. “I keep forgetting to tell you – I went to the Boston Library a few weeks back, but I kept forgetting to bring you some of the books I found. Thought you might want to browse them.” Toast explains, “I left them in the state house, I can give them to you before we leave in the morning.”

“I’d love to take a look, as long as I’m not nursing a hangover.” Daisy smiles, and Nick is about to ask if ghouls have a higher alcohol tolerance, but then Hancock comes over with a full tray of drinks and snacks.

“On the house, kids.” Hancock says, triumphantly.

Nothing like being friends with the mayor.

 

* * *

 

The four of them were content to sit around and make idle conversation for quite a while. Nick noted that Toast only ate a few bites of food and barely drank her wine, despite her earlier eagerness. Daisy had what Nick would consider a normal amount of both.

He had lost count of how many drinks Hancock had.

“Hey!” Hancock shouts, and Nick can’t ignore the startled head turns of some of the other patrons around them. Especially since Magnolia had decided to sing more mellow tunes about ten minutes earlier. “I have a great idea.” Hancock says, a bit quieter once Toast had commented on the use of his ‘outdoor voice’.

“You wanna dance, Daisy?” he asks, sounding surprisingly sober. Nick is still amazed with how unflappable Daisy is in every situation. She stands up and follows Hancock to the dance floor, letting him take the lead. Once he takes her hand in his own, Hancock looks surprisingly relaxed. He can see both of them chattering away about something or other. They looked like they were having fun.

Nick looks over at Toast, who he isn’t surprised to find mesmerized by the dancing. He swallows the panic rising in his chest. He wonders if she can hear his insides making all sorts of noise.

“Did you want to dance, doll?” he asks, sounding apprehensive. She turns her head before she tears her gaze away from Daisy and Hancock, a smile on her face.

As if a spell had worn off, she makes eye contact with Nick and her expression falls just enough for him to notice. She looks unsure.

“I, ah,” she freezes, her shoulders tensing up.

He feels as if his own chest will crush him. “Or maybe not,” he offers, and he doesn’t know what kind of face he makes but Toast’s eyes widen and she looks hurt.

“No, no, Nicky,” she reaches for him, her hand on his knee. He’s never heard her call him that before, and he feels embarrassed at how his heart jumps in his throat.

“I do want to dance with you, you’re the only one I _want_ to dance with…I’m just,” she struggles to find the words. “I suck?” she says, instead and smiles tentatively. “I haven’t danced in about two centuries, I’m a little rusty.”

Nick feels his heart lift, and he stands, Toast’s hand falling away from his knee. “So am I.” he offers his hand to her.

“A bit literal, but I’ll take it.” She shoots back easily, and he laughs.

Magnolia, thankfully, doesn’t choose this moment to change to a more upbeat song, as Nick leads Toast onto the dance floor.

He sees her hesitate in where to place her hands, and so he steps a bit closer, letting his metal hand guide her hand to his shoulder. He makes sure to have his sharper hand rest between the small of her back and her shoulder blades. His softer hand is clasped in hers, and he feels her left hand grip the fabric of his trench coat at his shoulder.

Nick is bewildered when she takes a step closer to him, registering in his mind that most friends wouldn’t be dancing with their bodies so close together. But Toast looks more comfortable like this, and when she gazes up at him, he can practically count the freckles on her cheeks.

At this revelation, Toast casts her eyes downward, and Nick studies her eyelashes. Does anyone have eyelashes this long anymore?

“Are you uncomfortable?” he can’t help but ask. Toast looks up at him, surprised, and seems to understand the underlying question, even as they sway to the music.

_Am I doing something wrong?_

“No, it’s not that!” Toast grips his good hand tightly in her own. “I’m serious Nick, this is really nice.” She looks as if she wants to say more. He doesn’t pry as her eyes move downcast again. “This makes me nervous, is all.”

“I make you nervous?” he asks, sounding bewildered, even to his own ears.

“I…” she trails off, bites her lip. “I always dreamed…” she laughs, nervously. “Wow this is embarrassing.”

“What is it?” he says, smiling, trying to keep his tone light.

“I always wish you would hold me like this.” She manages to say, though Nick thinks he’s lucky that he makes out the end of the sentence, because her voice turns faint and she looks mortified.

“Oh.” He doesn’t know what else to say. Nick can barely think past his own elation at this discovery.

She laughs but it sounds uneasy. “Maybe I’ve had too much to drink,” She makes up an excuse, but Nick remembers how she barely had enough to even be considered a few sips. He realizes she’s making up the excuse _for him_ so that he doesn’t have to answer.

“I always wish you would ask me to.” He says, instead. He tightens the grip of his metal hand on her back and she lets out a gasp. The tension between them feels practically physical.

And then Magnolia’s song ends, the spell between them momentarily broken.

Toast looks torn, and to Nick’s satisfaction, flushed.

“I’m gonna –” she starts, unclasps their hands and points to the staircase leading to the entrance. “Air.” She says simply, giving him a nod, and then making a beeline for the exit.

Nick watches her make her escape, unsure of what to do. Nick may struggle with confidence, but it was pretty hard to misconstrue what she’d just confessed to him.

“Hey, where’d she go?” Hancock asks the detective who, was still standing in the middle of the floor, looking baffled.

“She said she needed to get some air.” He points to the entrance with an arm that feels like lead. Hancock leads him back to the table where Daisy was enjoying another drink, but Nick felt completely numb. He didn’t want the moment to be over, he wanted to talk about this. It felt as if she had reciprocated, and he didn’t want to spend the rest of the night wondering what else could’ve been said.

Nick lets ten minutes pass before he stands up from the table.

“I’m going to go check on her.” He tells Hancock, who nods in reply.

It’s embarrassing how fast he goes up the stairs, half expecting Toast to have retreated to the old state house to sleep. He almost makes it all the way up when he sees Ham round the corner of the front door, leaving a crack open for the air. He assumes the ghoul is taking a smoke break.

Nick finds Toast at a side door, the opening half ajar, letting in a nice breeze.

“Hey,” he calls tentatively, “T-Toast,” he stutters, as he approaches her. He doesn’t know why he stumbles over her name, he’s never done it before, but seeing her after that adrenaline rush has him a bit worried.

And very bashful.

            He barely gets close enough before she’s grabbing at the lapels of his trench coat. Toast kisses him, and it surprises him, but it's not nearly as shocking as how fast his hands are on her. He should be mortified at how depraved he seems, his metal hand grabbing her waist, his other hand on her jaw, tilting her head up to kiss him deeper. But Toast isn’t much better, having moved one of her hands to the back of his neck, melting into his touch like he’s only imagined.

            He lets out the strangest noise he’s ever made, and pulls back momentarily to catch his breath.

            “Artie.”

            “What?” he asks, every other noise blocked out except for her voice in his ears. He doesn’t _need_ to breathe but he feels like he most definitely should.

            “My name –” she says, her chest rising in earnest to catch her breath. “My real name is Artie.” She manages to clarify, before Nick is on her again, kissing her until she’s groaning into his mouth. He presses closer, her back pressed on the wall by the door, and Nick feels her sink a bit lower, her knees going weak, even as she’s brushing her tongue against his.

            They both pull away from each other again, but Nick’s hands are still holding her up. He lets his forehead rest against hers as she breathes through her nose, and Nick feels a swell of affection when Toast holds the biceps of his trench coat to steady herself. Her eyes are practically closed. He kisses her cheekbone, and then her forehead.

            “Artie,” he tries, and he thinks he sees her eyes twinkle. “I want…this.” He says, and he worries that he isn’t making sense but she nods in agreement. “But –” he doesn’t want to continue.

            “You have to tie up the loose ends of old Nick’s past.” She finishes for him, and he can’t believe he tried to fool himself into thinking he wasn’t in love with her. He’s been in love with her for so long.

            He can’t help but dip down to give her another kiss, soft and tender.

            “Once we get Eddie, I think I’ll be able to move forward.” He murmurs and she nods, closing her eyes.

            “Well then,” she says, letting him take her hands in his own. She watches the light glint off his metal hand in her own and then looks up at him with fire in her eyes.

“Let’s go get that bastard.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments/feedback are always appreciated!!!!!!! ^p^


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I wanna give you back the open sky  
> Give you back the open sea  
> Open up the ages, darling, for you to see"

Nick is admittedly surprised that Hancock didn’t walk in on Toast and the detective necking in the back of the Third Rail. He also thanks his lucky stars that the imperturbable Ham didn’t either. By the time the bouncer returned to his post, Toast had twined her fingers with the detectives, and they were on their way down the stairs again.

“I have to get some sleep, John.” Toast says to the mayor once they’re back downstairs, and Hancock smiles in understanding, holding up a bottle of ale.

“Sleep tight, sweetheart.” He replies, when Toast leans forward to kiss the mayor on the cheek. Nick nods to him, and then to Daisy.

“Good night, you two. John, don’t stay up too late.” Nick says as Hancock leans back in his chair.

“Could say th’ same to you.” Hancock tries to goad him, but it’s not as effective when the mayor is slurring his words. Daisy, as untroubled as when the night began, gives the two of them a wave.

As the sky starts to brighten, Toast leads Nick back to the Old State House. Nick figures it’s close to 2AM, but he can’t see much past the glare of the streetlights. He doesn’t feel tired, of course, but he’s put on high alert when Toast trips over the uneven ground beneath her. He already has his hands on her waist when she steadies her balance.

“Was that rock there before?” she jokes, and Nick doesn’t miss the way she grabbed his hand that still rested on her waist. She righted herself, and Nick can hear himself snort softly as she heaves open the door to the state house.

Inside the building, there are only a few people awake. Two ghouls stand by the door, talking quietly amongst themselves. One of them glances over to the pair as they walk in and, convinced that Nick and Toast were regulars, resumed his conversation with his friend.

Fahrenheit is at the top of the spiral staircase, and gives them a nod of acknowledgement as she lights her cigarette. Nick is convinced Fahrenheit doesn’t sleep at all, since she seems to own realty on every dark corner of the state house. She’s scared Toast half to death on numerous occasions when they came to visit Hancock, the bodyguard emerging from the shadows like a buff spectre.

Nick has his hand pressed to the small of Toast’s back as she climbs the staircase to the second floor. They quietly walk past the drifters sleeping on mattresses, and enter another room at the end of the hall. It’s small, but it has the essentials – a bed that barely fits in the room if you have the door open, a dresser, and a chair in the corner. There are full bottles of wine sitting on the floor in the far corner next to a broken down heater. He remembers, when Toast’s back is turned and he can see the soft curve of her neck, that she is still wearing her formal attire.

“I’ll l-let you change.” He stutters out and goes to leave the room, but not before catching her smirk. It alleviates some of the embarrassment from tripping over his own words, but he still feels like his insides will combust.

Nick rounds the doorframe and stands by what used to be a window that someone had done a shoddy job boarding up. He lights a cigarette and blows the smoke out the cracks of the planks. The air that comes in is cool enough to stop him from overheating.

Toast pokes her head out and looks both directions before her gaze lands on him. She gives him a warm smile, and Nick considers prying the boards off the window to let the air in and freeze him completely. Anything to stop himself from acting so flustered.

This was normal routine for them, so why was he so nervous? They’d been on the road together like this for so long and yet he felt like he couldn’t even put one foot in front of the other without falling at her feet. He wanted to beg for mercy.

“You can come back in,” she says, and Nick catches sight of her usual clothes, though her boots are strewn aside in exchange for thick-looking wool socks. She had thrown a few sheets on the old mattress too.

He stiffly walks back into the room after putting out his cigarette, and stands near the door, unsure of what to do. Toast had already crawled into the bed and tugged a thick blanket up to her chin by the time Nick focuses up. The moon casts soft light through a half-boarded window at the head of the bed, and he swallows thickly when he can see her looking at him. He glances at a chair in the opposite end of the room that he usually sat in while running diagnostics.

“You alright?” she asks, watching him stand frozen with indecision.

“Fine, fine,” he mumbles, tapping his hand on his leg. The long pause between them has him changing his mind. “Actually, no.” he sighs.

She doesn’t look surprised at his answer, so he continues. “I feel strange. I feel _nervous_. _You_ make me feel nervous. I completely forget how I acted an hour ago before we –” his voice trails off. What was the big damn difference anyway? He knew he’d been in love with her since –

“Nick,” she says, and he dares to look up at her from under the brim of his hat. “Come here.” She scoots over on the bed and pats the spot next to her. He obliges after a small pause, lying down next to her, albeit stiffly.

She takes the time to pull the blanket up over him too. Toast tucks the edges under his body so the wind doesn’t make him cold and, _God,_ if it isn’t the most mundane thing that makes his heart swell with affection for her. She’s always trying to make him comfortable, most times even before he realizes he feels uneasy.  

“I’m such a bonehead.” He murmurs, and she puts a hand to his chest, curling up on her side to face him.

“You’re not.” She says quietly, loosening his tie only a little, and fixing his collar. Reflexive habits that make him think of his old domesticated life. He wonders if she thinks the same.

“I wish I could relax.” he says, and she laughs at that.

“Me too.” Toast rests her weight on her elbow, and leans her chin in her hand. Her glasses are still on, but he can see a faint reflection of her eyes from the light filtering into the room.

Nick turns his head just enough to look away from her, and up at the corner of the ceiling. He can see wide strips of moonlight on the walls, and it looks oddly peaceful. “Real funny.” He grumbles.

“I’m not kidding!” she says, amidst her laughter. She sounds entertained at least. Nick looks back at her.

“You’re a bad liar.”

“You’re just not paying attention.” She shoots back.

He studies her face, and her gaze doesn’t waver from his. “Here,” she says finally, and holds out her free hand to him.

Nick takes her hand in his and entwines their fingers together. He feels embarrassed when he hears her laugh, and watches the faint blush on the high of her cheeks. “You’re cute, Nick, but I meant my wrist. Check my pulse.” She says.

He does as she instructs, pressing his thumb to the soft skin at her pulse point and counts. All the while, watching her face as more embarrassment blooms along her neck. Toast’s pulse is abnormally fast, and _strong_ too.

“When you touch me, I can barely hear anything over my own heartbeat in my ears.” She laughs, a bit giddy this time.

He barely remembers how that feels, but he knows. Touching her lets him remember it – gives him a taste of what he used to be. “Doesn’t it scare you?”

“I’m never scared when I’m with you.” she replies so easily. No catch in her voice, no hesitation.

He wants her conviction. There was always a part of him that was afraid of her. She was so important to him. Toast pushed and pulled him however her heart would bend and it terrified him to be near her – terrified him _more_ to lose her.

Nick kisses her like it’s a promise, holding her to him with his metal hand. The heat of the blanket on top of them is almost unbearable. Her free hand sweeps across his torso and to his side, brushing her lips along his again and again, until the only thing Nick can hear is the thrum of her heartbeat under her skin.

He feels her shake, and they part for a moment, with Toast resting her head against his shoulder, her breath on his neck.

“You should try to sleep, doll.” He says, as she kisses his cheek. He can feel her breath on his ear, and he squeezes her tighter against him. His chest feels as if it constricts, and he tilts his head down to kiss her again, gentler this time. “Artie, I’m seriously at risk of overheating,” he says, while she trails hot kisses down the scarred expanse of his neck. He can hear his own voice sound strained with pleasure as she huffs a laugh against his skin.

“Okay,” she concedes, and she leans up again, watching him a moment before lowering her face to brush her lips against his quickly. He has trouble remembering to let his vice grip on her hip go as she settles next to him.

“Will you be running diagnostics all night?” she asks him, as he listens to her heartbeat relax.

“With the exercise you’re putting me through, I think I’ll have no choice.”

She laughs dreamily, letting herself finally succumb to sleep.

 

* * *

  

Toast wakes up around mid morning – late enough to catch breakfast with Hancock, who had gone to sleep late and woke up with the birds. Nick had held Toast to his side all night, unbothered and utterly content to watch her sleep soundly in his arms. She gave Nick a knowing smile before she got up, leaning over to kiss the corner of his mouth before getting out of bed to shove her boots on. Back to business.

Hancock seemed to notice the difference between them, and acted borderline congratulatory towards Nick while Toast busied herself by eating mutfruit and slices of melon. They readied their weapons soon after, and Hancock bid them farewell at the entrance of the state house.

“Don't be strangers.” The mayor says, wrapping his arms around Toast’s shoulders and squeezing her tight.

“We won't, thanks for everything John.” Toast says, and Nick is about to give the ghoul a handshake before he's brought in for a hug as well.

“Come on Nicky, show some love!” Hancock says, and Nick can't help but chuckle, returning the gesture and patting him on the back.

“Where are you guys headed now?”

Nick decides now is a good time as any to put together the holotape numbers. He looks blankly past the two of them while he calculates the location, and then looks to Toast. She looks as determined as he feels.

“South Boston. Andrew Station.”

“Let's get going.” Is her reply. She turns on her heels and starts marching towards the door, with Nick not far behind. Hancock waves to them until they're out of sight, and then they’re out of Goodneighor with a soft click of the front gate.

Getting into the station is easy enough. The raiders that surround the building are taken out with minimal effort. But the further down they go, the more Nick’s hands begin to shake. If he seemed tense at the BADTFL Regional office, this is ten times worse. His nerves feel taut, ready to snap. He is hyperaware of the wires beneath his skin. He can hear the components that make up his synthetic body, and they sing in his ears as he follows Toast into the corridors of Andrew Station.

She pauses at a juncture between two tunnels and turns to look at him. She must see something that worries her because she asks “Cigarette break?” and Nick is caught off guard, too fixated on the prospect of Eddie being around any corner.

He murmurs out a weak agreement, and before he can take out his own carton, she’s already handing him one. Nick looks up at her hesitantly.

“I’ve got some to spare.” She offers, and Nick is reminded of their earlier stock up at Daisy’s store. Toast still gives him a timid smile, hoping she isn’t pushing him too hard, but at the same time, makes another more insistent gesture for him to take one.

They stand in silence as he takes a few drags, and Nick inspects the dirt collected in the drain by his feet. He can’t seem to find the right words, to tell her that he’s thankful she’s here with him. That he doesn't know if he would be here if it weren't for her.

“Oh shit I forgot to give the books to Daisy!” She exclaims. Nick is so suddenly pulled out of his own thoughts and into her worries that he can't help but smile. She always has something on the go, or something to do, and she always does it while maintaining a lightheartedness that kept Nick on his toes. He knew that after this was done, he wanted to be happy with her.

He wanted to put an end to this Winter case, and not because it was revenge for the old Nick, but because it was the right thing to do. Because Toast got up every morning and visited settlements and talked to townsfolk so that she could fix problems, so that she could contribute her little bit of justice – and she wanted to do that with Nick.

So when they finally get to Winter’s room, past the raiders and past Chancer, he knows that this is how it was always meant to go. How he was supposed to start his own life.

Toast inputs the numbers he had told her the day before without asking him to repeat it, and Nick vows to compliment her for it later – but the door is opening and the man who ruined his predecessor’s life is standing there.

Nick’s hands grip his gun like he wants to snap it in two, and Toast is right behind him, her eyes are on him and he can feel it. He can't hear what Winter is saying, his servos are buzzing too loudly in his ears, and coolant is pumping through his limbs too fast. He knows Toast won't move unless he does, and she surprises him again –

She protects him. She holds her gun up as a precaution but she chooses to guard him, and watch his back. Even as he puts two bullets in Eddie Winter’s chest, and watches his body slump to the bunker floor.

Everything is over so soon, Nick feels like he doesn’t even process it. The relief would inevitably come later, when he’s looking up at the sky in Sanctuary or killing a feral ghoul, he’ll just suddenly think to himself that this was his life now. Not old Nick’s. But there was one more thing he had to see.

Toast follows him out a hidden hatch by Joe Spuckie’s sub shop. Nick knows he doesn't have to say so, but he kneels down at the roadside and tells her of Jennifer Lands. He tells her how it played out, how Eddie didn't even bother to let her turn around to see who was going to shoot her, opting to let the bullet go through her back instead.

And then they share a look, as if she knows what their work has meant to the Commonwealth and to him, as if she is happy to provide that glimmer of hope for the place they call home. But he offers her an excuse anyway, because he cares too much for her comfort to ever guilt her into staying.

“I’d understand if you want space – if you don’t want to travel for a while,” Nick says, trying to sound impartial, but it sounds sad even to his own ears. “with me, I mean.”

“I want to stay with you.” She says so insistently that it overlaps his initial offer. There’s an awkward pause of Nick not knowing what to do next, especially with the newest development in their relationship. They had crossed this limbo they were in, but how was he supposed to –

“Walk with me, Valentine.” Toast offers, and he quirks a smile, following her down the street. Nick looks off toward the water, the sun a pleasant temperature despite it being midafternoon.

When it's all said and done, the memory of Jenny and Winter hit him harder than he expects. In fact, all the memories of old Nick make him remember those small moments he had spent with Toast before the war. He realizes that he has a lot to ask her – and he doesn’t want to wait anymore.

“Do you still miss your brother?” Nick asks, and he watches her eyes blink rapidly in surprise, her mind trying to assure her that, yes, he had asked her about Darcy. Maybe Toast had come to cope with the years before the bomb by putting distance between herself and her memories – excusing them for things that had happened a long time ago.

“Sometimes.” She admits, uncertainty in her voice. She looks down at the cracked pavement of the road, and kicks a stray piece of rock into the grass. “I guess my life is so different now that it feels like,” her eyes grow wide and she laughs softly, “like I’ve lived twice, I suppose.”

Nick smiles at that. Of course he understands. Of course she _knows_ he’d understand.

“I’m still trying to figure out how to fit everything together so that it makes sense again. Or maybe, fit it together enough so that it feels right.” She adjusts the strap of her gun on her back, walking along the path with him.

“Take up whittling?” Nick asks and Toast laughs. It sounds happy and real. He wonders if she misses that bishop piece Darcy had given her.

“I don’t know,” she sounds thoughtful, but the memory doesn’t seem to bother her. “Darcy whittled those chess pieces because he wanted an icon – a symbol, y’know? Everyone felt hopeless during the war. He wanted to believe in something.”

“I think he believed in you.” Nick says, and Toast stops, looking up at him wide-eyed.

Nick thinks he’s said something wrong, and his stomach drops, because her eyes slowly well up with tears. He’s about to apologize for being so insensitive, for assuming something so personal – but she brushes her thumb under her eyelashes and then she lunges forward to hold him. Her arms wind around his neck and she shoves her face into the collar of his shirt. Her breath rushes out of her and he can feel it ghost along his neck.

He holds her to him, holds her through it.

When Toast loosens her grip on him, Nick only lets her go enough to look at her face.

“I didn’t want to make you cry,” he murmurs, and she shakes her head, surging forward to kiss him.

He kisses her back without hesitation, tilting his head down so that she doesn’t have to stand on her tiptoes to reach him. She holds the lapels of his coat, pulling him to her until the only thing he knows is the pressure of her mouth against his.

They part and there’s this _relief_ on her face, as if she’s been waiting for it. As if she was waiting for both of them to finally feel at peace with their situation. For both of them to move on from their old lives, and for them to do it together.

“Time for a new case, my lovely Valentine?” she asks, and it’s _new_ , this thing between them, but he feels like he’s heard her say it countless times before. He hopes she plans to say it in the times ahead.

Toast offers him her hand.

And he takes it, with love in his heart. “Lead the way, doll.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for sticking with me and I hope you enjoyed it :)  
> reviews and comments are always appreciated!
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> **this won't be the last you hear from Toast and Nick!**


End file.
